Funeral for an Enemy
by FangBreath
Summary: A life is a life, no matter whose it is. Probably a one-shot.


AN: I really like this story and I hope you do to.

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Hermione woke up early that dreadful morning, her conscience laced with regret. She knew she was not at fault, and yet she still felt guilty. If just one wand was wielded by an unsteady hand, than the immense loss some people were suffering could have been prevented. Sadly, all the wands were handled with unwavering hands, including the one that struck him down.

She hadn't even planned on attending the funeral, convinced that being there would only cause her more needless heartache. However, she quickly changed her mind when she learned that Harry and Ron were going. It would feel better being there with a shoulder to cry on. The fact that their attendance was a result of official Auror business didn't do much to hinder her choice.

The first thing Hermione saw when she arrived in the grimly cheerless cathedral was his mother. She watched as the tall blond woman wept unceasingly into his father's shoulder, looking for comfort and finding none. Her feeling of despair would never fully leave, the hole in her life would never be filled. The hapless woman had never cried so much, especially in public, but this was a special occasion and these were special circumstances. It was the day that— after cradling him in her arms; watching him grow up; and, all the while, loving him more than she knew she was capable— she would bury her own son.

It's true that the dead man had many enemies, but the large group of people at his funeral made it apparent that their hate was not vast enough to reach past the grave. Hermione even saw Harry shed a tear or two for his fallen foe. It's odd how many enemies someone has in life, and yet they all unite in the event of that person's passing. They pretended to mourn him and— who knows — maybe some of them didn't have to pretend. Mourners lined up to view his frigid, lifeless body and pay their respects.

Draco Malfoy lay completely motionless in the open casket, his icy flesh whiter than fresh snow. The man had tormented countless people, so why was Hermione sad? Because she believed that not even Draco Malfoy could be totally heartless. One quick glance around the room evidenced her thoughts. The air was thick with sorrow and people were bawling everywhere she turned. Surely a man without emotions could not be the one to draw out those of so many people. He was loved by many. His wife and baby boy were sitting in the front pew. She was trying to keep a strong front for her child, but Hermione could tell that the poor woman was a second away from crumbling. For only a second, Hermione imagined that it was Ron in the casket. It was second too long and her eyes flooded with fresh tears at the thought of her husband dead. Just then she felt a familiar hand on her shoulder.

"Don't cry, nothing's as bad as it seems," Ron said.

She choked back her sobs. "Tell that to his parents. Tell that to his wife and child. Tell that to all the people he left behind and the people he'll never meet."

He didn't seem to understand where her sorrow was coming from. "But you're not his mother or his wife. As for the people he'll never meet, they should be having a party."

Hermione was taken aback by his insensitive remark. "Ron!"

"Sorry 'Mione. I just don't understand why your so upset."

"Because even if he was our enemy, he was still a person. A person we've known since we were ten. He was alive not too long ago, and now he's not. Look around. His parents and his wife are devastated. And look at that small blond baby, Draco will never get to see his son grow up. He will never get to be a part of his own son's life."

Ron looked perplexed by her thoughts on the subject. His Auror training had taught him not to think of such things, so Hermione decided not to burden him with unnecessary feelings of remorse that might one day get him killed. Instead, she told him the other thing that was bothering her.

"Besides, it could have been anyone, it could have been you."

A look of understanding crossed his features and, to show he understood, he gently took her into his strong arms. "That'll never happen, 'Mione. I love you to much."

Even though she new his words were quite empty, even though she knew that love alone cannot save someone's life, she still accepted his sweet fictions to be true for no other reason than to feel safe. She finally broke away from his embrace and he went back to his patrolling, leaving her with a short kiss and an endearing smile.

She glimpsed once again at the casket. It was glaring evidence of how unfair the world can be. They were too young, much too young to be plagued by a war that was bigger than any of them, to be the pons of a higher cause, to die for any reason at all. Armies and attack strategies and killing curses should not be their concern. Death is unwelcome after only twenty years of life.

There will never be another Draco Malfoy, there will never be anyone exactly like him. His story has ended, his second chances expired. He died a monster who, with time, could have a become a man. No other person will posses his soul or essence, no other person will posses his unique features on their face. Now she knew there was no going back to the days of their youth at Hogwarts. Those days would never come back just as no day will ever repeat itself.

Hermione peeked outside and saw rain tumbling from the dark clouds. Even the sky was crying for him, for the lonely Slytherin killed in a crossfire of Avada Kedavras. She thought back to her school days, when the hate she felt for him was still new and not at all jaded by the understanding of how hard his life really was. She thought back and knew that, given the right circumstances, Draco Malfoy could have become a better man.

A look of peace took over the visage of the man who, in life, was hardly short of evil. Maybe redemption wasn't so far off. Maybe peace wasn't saved exclusively for people like Harry Potter. Maybe salvation was just beyond the black veil.

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AN: So what did you think? 


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